


in which beth and rio unintentionally partake in a date

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pick and Choose Your Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: It's fourth of july weekend. Beth is alone, Rio shows up and her AC breaks. They watch House Hunters Renovation.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 10
Kudos: 175





	in which beth and rio unintentionally partake in a date

“What do you mean you can’t send someone until Monday? It’s Wednesday!” 

Beth pulls a cold water bottle out of the refrigerator and presses it to her heated neck, closing her eyes at the welcome sensation while holding the fridge door open with her hip as she adjusts her cellphone against her ear. She props one barefoot against the opposite leg, heel pressed to the inner calf all the while frowning at the customer service rep on the other end of the line. 

_ “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re short-staffed over the holiday weekend and all our current service reps are booked.” _

Beth seethes, eyes shooting open at that. “You’re telling me I paid all that extra money for a warranty I can’t even use?” 

_ “Ma’am, I’d be happy to schedule a service call for Monday morning if you wish. I’m afraid that’s the closest date I’ve got.”  _

“Fine.”

_ “Okay. Monday at eleven okay?” _

“Sure.” 

_ “Okay. Your service call has been scheduled. Is there anything else I can help you with?”  _

“No,” she sighs then, feeling the guilt of her frustration-induced rudeness set in, making her adjust her tone to something more appropriately grateful––attracting bees with honey and whatnot. “Thank you.”

Her phone thuds when she tosses it onto the counter, and the sigh that escapes her next is one of relief when she rolls a cold water bottle down the side of her neck, and over to the other side. The cool breath of refrigerator air licks her bare thighs until it starts to beep and she pushes it shut. 

Some episode of  _ Friends _ is playing in the other room; she’s lost track of how many have passed since she got on the phone with the air conditioning company; the heat’s mostly made her lose interest. 

There had been a plan for the long weekend alone; of drinking and eating and relaxing, and just putting off all responsibilities while Dean and the kids were away. Beth never anticipated the AC breaking down in the middle of a Fourth of July heatwave though, and now she fears she might spend her time, not relaxing as planned, but sweatily googling how to repair a central air unit herself. 

The bottle makes small snapping sound when she twists the cap off to take a long swig, but it’s not doing much to soothe her already fried nerves, so she places it on the counter and opens the fridge again, grabbing a beer instead. She twists the cap off a Blue Moon and pads back over to the TV room, drinking while fanning her old Madonna t-shirt at the hem, except Rio standing there, leaning against the wall, all casual-like, one leg crossed at the ankles and a smile that widens when he sees her spill beer all down the front of her shirt in her surprise. 

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” 

She coughs a little, hurrying back into the kitchen to place the foaming beer in the sink before grabbing a dish towel to wipe down her legs as she comes back around the island.

“I tried calling,” he answers. Not really an explanation, but more of statement;  _ I’ve been calling and you didn’t answer, so I’m here. _

Beth flails a bit, flustered, and catches a droplet of beer off her ankle with the dish towel. “I’ve been on the phone with the AC people–so you just show up if I don’t pick up?” 

Rio only shrugs, eyes raking over her bare legs for a moment, the briefest swipe of his tongue across his lips. 

“You having some ‘me’ time?” 

She glances down at herself and right, the blue yoga shorts she no longer wears to yoga since they shrunk in the dryer don’t cover much. In fact, they cover her ass by a hair. Self consciously, Beth pulls at the hem of her shirt but then decides it’s too hot to care so she drops her hands to her hips. 

“Yeah. I am, actually. You need something?” 

And then he shifts just a fraction, just enough to push the black duffel out from behind him with his foot. 

“Your bonus.” 

Instantly, Beth summons the image of her Rio calendar and can’t seem to recall scheduling a pickup this weekend. “Ruby and Annie are both out of town, but we’ll deal with it on Monday.” 

“Yeah, take your time. No rush.” 

“Since when?” 

He shrugs. “Employee appreciation week.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“So you all alone for the weekend then?” he asks, instead of slipping out like he usually does, and this is...new.

“Yeah. Ruby is at her in laws’ and Annie is with her son’s stepmother at some resort or something, with their kids.” 

He nods. “Your kids gone too?”

“Yeah,” she replies, a little sad–a little too sad, too vulnerable, so she shrugs like it’s no big deal and pairs it with a smile. “Yeah, they’re--I’m alone for the weekend.” 

The way he nods as he paces around, stopping only to look at the framed pictures of the kids on the wall, like he’s killing time, tells Beth he might be on the same boat. 

“What’s wrong with your AC?” He suddenly asks. 

“Oh, I don’t know. It goes on, I hear it, but nothing comes out. They’re supposed to come take a look on Monday.” 

She hears him click his tongue as he then turns on his heel. “You don’t need a service call. The unit out back or the side of the house?”

“Uh, side, towards the back. You don’t have to though--”

“Oh no? Should we just wait and see if you melt before Monday?”

He glances at her again, bites his lip and there’s a playful glint in his eyes that’s making her warmer, and therefore annoyed. 

“You’re obviously just dying to get your hands on my unit, so just go for it.” Pressing her lips together, she holds her hand up the moment his eyebrows fly up. “Don’t. Even.” 

His expression shifts just a smidge, the look in his eyes just salacious enough, and so Beth leads him out with an unintelligible instruction to follow and a wave of her hand. 

It’s only when the heat outside swats at her legs that she thinks maybe she should put on pants, but it’s too late now. She can feel him, lingering behind her as she leads the way around the house where the AC unit is sitting. Once they’re standing in front of it, he moves around her to inspect one side, then the other before looking up at her. 

“When was the last time you cleaned this thing?” 

“You have to clean it?” 

“That’s what I thought. Do you have a vacuum cleaner and an extension cord?” 

“Yeah.” 

There’s a power outlet nearby and so Rio makes quick work of plugging in the vacuum before getting to work, pulling the bigger twigs and leaves from the condenser before vacuuming the dust and dirt from every inch of it. His forearm and back muscles shift and flex as he moves around, squatting and reaching behind the unit, and there’s a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck by the time he’s done that Beth is having difficulty ignoring. 

“Come here,” he says once the vacuum is off, beckoning her over to the opposite side of the unit, where he pulls a large netted disk from a compartment. 

“See this?” 

She nods. 

“This is your filter. I cleaned it, but you’re definitely gonna need a new one, so make sure they replace it when they come look at it. Have them replace the ones in the house vents–there should be at least four of ‘em, so don’t let ‘em skimp. This one should hold up for a few days.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. Make sure pull the twigs and shit out every once in a while. Sometimes that’s all it is.” 

“I will. Thank you.” 

“Yeah, no sweat. You want to go check if it works?”

“Yeah.”

Beth wishes then that she could come up with a better response than “okay” but the image of Rio doing something so completely harmless as cleaning out her AC vents is one that sticks to her brain like wet taffy and it continues to play in a loop. It isn’t until she tries the AC again, and it rumbles to life, that she finally lights up and can’t help the laugh that tumbles out at the cooling breeze wafting over her almost instantly. 

“Oh, my god, you did it!” 

He gestures cockily and she can’t even fault him for it. She’s too happy to roll her eyes or take him down a notch. 

“Mind if I wash my hands?”

“No, go ahead.”

She watches his back as he runs his hands under the water, hears him gather a hearty squirt of soap before he rinses off and grabs a nearby dish towel. 

When he’s done he looks almost bashful, standing there awkwardly in the low hum of the AC and the distant sound of the television. That’s the thing about Rio, Beth’s noticed. He’s all confidence and ease but the moment he’s done what he’s there to do, it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

She almost doesn’t ask, but then she thinks,  _ what the hell _ . 

“Do you want a beer? Or...are you hungry? Do you like chinese? I ordered some, and I always order too much anyway–if you have somewhere to be or--you should have a beer, or not a beer? Water? A coke?”

The deep breath she inadvertently takes is evidence of her run on sentence rambling and she fidgets with her shirt, horrified she might be coming off too eager, or god forbid, desperate for his company. 

“I’ll take a beer,” he says easily enough. “What’d you got?” 

This reminds her for a moment of another day when she invited him over under the pretense of business, except now they’re both sober and she’s in tiny shorts, and he’s in a t-shirt, and she’s nervous. 

“Well,” she opens the fridge, inspects her selections. “I’ve got some Heineken and Stella Artoise.” 

She feels him sigh over her shoulder, his chest grazing her back, causing her to shiver as he reaches over her shoulder for a Stella. 

“This’ll do.” 

She turns in time to see him pop the cap off with his keys, which he then drops on the counter. And she doesn’t miss the slightest of disapproving sneers before he takes a drink.

“You’re kind of a snob, you know that?” 

He smirks at that–pre-recorded audience laughter sounds off in the background. 

“So,” she says, resting her hip against the island counter. “I guess hotshot crime bosses get holidays off sometimes, huh?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” 

“You got any plans?” 

“Nah, not really.” 

“What’s Marcus up to this weekend?” 

“Visiting his grandparents in California with his mom.” 

Beth nods.

“Mine too. Are visiting their grandmother, I mean. Not in California.” 

He smiles. 

“What are you watching?” 

“Um, Friends. Do you--want to sit?”

“Sure.” 

They sit on either end of the couch and it’s deliberate. She knows it and she knows he knows it too. It’s not awkward exactly, but it’s--loaded. They’re both far too aware of each other and the domesticity of it all.

Beth pulls her shorts down and, noticing him looking, she explains, “I thought about changing but it’s hot and I really need to do laundry.” 

“Oh, don’t change on my account,” he tells her, eyes back on the screen.

Beth watches his profile for a moment before returning her attention to the show as well. Monica has just walked into Chandler and Joey’s apartment wearing a turkey on her head.

“This show’s so white,” Rio exclaims. 

Beth nods slowly. 

“How can you watch this?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. It’s kind of like white noise. You know?” 

“Ten years and none of those people ever dated a Latino. Three million Latinos in New York City.” 

She practically gapes at him at that. “You’re just walking around with this information in your head?” 

“I read a lot.” 

“Hmm. Okay, well what do you like to watch?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, what do you watch?” 

“I like home renovation shows.” 

“Like  _ Love It Or List It _ ?” 

“I’m partial to  _ House Hunters Renovation _ but yeah.”

Her eyes are so wide, her jaw is on the floor and she can’t help the surprised chuckle that tumbles out. Rio, on the other hand, is the opposite of impressed by her reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” she offers, pulling her knees up and turning towards him, draping her arm over the backrest. “I just--I would never have guessed you were an HGTV type of person.” 

“What’s HGTV?” 

“The--network that airs the show.”

“Oh, I usually just stream it.” 

Beth laughs, shaking her head, turning her body back to face the television, lowering one foot to the floor. “Of course.” 

“What? I don’t have time for commercials and shit.” 

“Yeah. Annie streams everything too. Must be a generational thing.” 

“How old do you think I am?” 

“Can we just--not?” 

“You ain’t robbing the cradle if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Beth breathes in deeply and scoots back in her seat to somehow evade the blush creeping up her cheeks. 

“Okay,” she mutters dismissively.

“I mean, unless you’ve got some kind of Mrs. Robinson kink, I won’t say I’m not down.”

She shoots a glare at him, but can’t disguise she’s amused. 

“You got a thing for Anne Bancroft?” 

He shrugs. 

“Who doesn’t love a milf?” 

Beth rolls her eyes then forces her focus upon the screen.

After a beat, she asks, “Is that a recurring theme in your life, or?’

“What? Milfs?” 

Shaking her head, she waves him off. “Forget it.” 

The doorbell rings before Beth can dig herself deeper into this hole of mortification she’s created, and she shifts, already in search of her wallet, except Rio stops her, hand on her arm as he stands instead. 

“Oh…” she wants to say he doesn’t have to, that he’s her guest, but he’s already pulling his wallet from his back pocket on his way to the front door.

Beth nibbles on her thumbnail, listening to the low rumble of the exchange with the delivery boy, wondering what exactly the hell she’s doing with this man in her living room, watching  _ Friends _ , but then he’s back and she decides she doesn't care. 

“Alright,” he says, holding the large bag containing their food. “You’re gonna have to switch up the entertainment. I ain’t sitting through no  _ Friends _ marathon today.” 

“Here,” she says, handing him the remote. “I’ll get plates.” 

  
  


It isn’t his presence that shocks her, not really, it’s how easy it all feels. How sitting with him on the 4th of July, not talking about work or what brought them to this moment in the first place–avoiding that both their kids are elsewhere, is the highlight of perhaps her year.

It’s sad in a way, the isolation part of it, but there’s comfort in knowing she’s at least not alone in her isolation. There’s something depressing about an empty house, empty childrens’ rooms and unattended toys strewn about--all the lingering energy floating around the space reminding her that they’re out there somewhere running around the Boland lake house.

She wonders if Dean will remember Jane is skittish about the water after last year’s incident.

They’re halfway through their second episode of  _ House Hunters Renovation _ when Beth’s phone rings and Emma and Jane’s excited rambling over one another reaches her before she can even answer the phone. She laughs and Rio an apologetic look as she places the phone at a safe distance to preserve her hearing. He gives her an understanding shrug in return and mutes the television. 

“Okay, one at a time please, ladies!”

And they’re off, taking turns detailing their time at grandma’s, telling Beth all about the fireworks their dad and Kenny got, and all the candy grandma’s let them eat, and Danny and Kenny get a quick word in before they’re gone and the TV’s still turned down, and the silence is daunting.

She blinks up at the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing. 

Rio’s cleaned up while she’s been on the phone and she perks up as her inner hostess kicks in. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

But he waves her off and is already rinsing their plates by the time she reaches the sink. 

“Kids good?” He asks, and she nods. 

“Yeah. They’re having fun. No major tragedies yet.”

He nods again and pumps a little soap onto a sponge. 

“How do you--I mean, I don’t get the sense your ex hates you very much, judging by how much time you spend with your son.” 

He freezes and she thinks she might have overstepped. The lines get blurred sometimes when they’re alone, so she can’t really tell, but he resumes lathering a plate. 

“She knows I’d never let any of it touch him, and I know the second shit hits the fan, I need to step back. She trusts me, and I’m honest with her.”

She gives a little laugh, leaning her hip against the counter as he rinses the soap off the plate and she waits with a towel for him to hand it over. “Yeah, Dean definitely doesn’t trust me.” 

“He don’t respect you too much either. You ask me, that’s the real problem.” 

She doesn’t look at him as she dries, but takes a breath as she sets the plate down on the counter. 

“So what do I do?” 

“Make him.” 

“Every time he takes the kids somewhere I’m scared he’s not going bring them back.” 

He gives her the second plate and waits as she dries it. When she’s done, she’s surprised to see him watching her so intently. 

“You want to go somewhere with me?” 

The invitation is far too intriguing to reject, the warmth of him all too inviting, and so she smirks and nods her head. “Give me five minutes?” 

The second she enters her bedroom, she realizes she really has nothing to wear, because getting the kids ready for their trip used up all of her time which left none for laundry. Her options are a pair of yoga pants and a pair of faded jeans she meant to send with her donations to Ruby’s church.

The jeans fit well enough, and if she tucks in her t-shirt, it almost looks like she’s wearing it ironically. 

Her boots with the shorter, more comfortable heels, and a dab of lipgloss round up what she hopes is a passable outfit and she walks out to find Rio on the phone. 

She hangs back a little to give him privacy but she can tell he’s talking to her son–the way he laughs makes her smile.

When he’s done, he looks up and gives her one those onceovers that still make her aware of herself in that very specific way. 

“What?” She asks when he doesn’t look away. 

“You should wear jeans more often.” 

A wave of heat shoots through her chest and neck so quickly she has to look away before moving past him toward the front door, grabbing her purse on the way. 

“Let’s go.” 

  
  
  


Go they do, though where they’re going, Beth has no idea, and she’s gotten nothing out of asking three times already so she mostly just sits and allows herself to enjoy the drive. Sets of fireworks are popping sporadically as they go, lights burst here and there in the not-quite-dark-yet sky as he drives them into the city. 

“We’re almost there,” Rio says and beth has only now noticed they’ve been driving in silence all along. 

She looks at his hand, hanging limply off the console between them, and she fights the urge to reach out and slip hers underneath it and entwine her fingers with his.  _ God, has she always been this touch-starved? _

“You going to be weird about going to into an empty building with me?” He asks the moment he stops the car and she actually laughs. 

“You’re not that scary, calm down.” 

“Once upon a time you used to be scared of me. Either I’m getting soft or you’re officially a bad bitch.”

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she says, “Maybe it’s a little of both.” 

He smiles at her then, one of those genuine, rare ones she doesn’t get a chance to see directed her way very often these days. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he replies, pushing his door open. “Come on.” 

She walks beside him for a bit before realizing they’re in a parking lot. Looking closer at the building they’re heading toward, she asks, “Did you bring me to  _ church _ ?” 

“Not exactly, no.”

And then he takes her hand, and Beth would swoon if she were the type. He holds her hand across the parking lot, all the way up the back steps, until they reach the heavy double doors that he needs both hands to unlock as there’s a huge padlock securing them shut that requires a code he keys in easily. 

He pushes one door open but stops to look at her first. “The ground floor isn’t wired yet, so it’s gonna be dark in there till we get upstairs.” 

“How many stairs?” She asks wearily. 

“No a lot,” he chuckles. “Come on.” 

There’s noticeably less sun than only moments ago already but what’s left of it makes a gorgeous show of seeping in through the stained glass windows above them and beth can’t seem to stop admiring it. She’s so distracted by it that she almost misses the large bulks hidden under covers against the wall. 

“Are you going to be working out of here now?”

She slows down and he stops beside her, “Nah. Just storing some stuff here for now.” 

She follows him the rest of the way, to the back of the chapel and through a door that leads up a long set of stairs. 

“Careful,” he tells her when they’re almost there. 

There’s nothing there, mostly concrete walls and stairs, and more stairs. 

Beth is about to ask how much further they’ve got to go when she hears the distinct sound of a switch before there’s a burst of light as they reach a landing. The strength with which Beth fights the urge to roll her eyes is worthy of an award. What she cannot fight, however, is the snort that slips right out. 

“Of course you live in a church. You’re such a hipster.” 

The look her gives her might as well say ‘fuck you’, but he offers her that side smirk of his instead and shakes his head. 

“I ain’t no hipster.”

“Okay,” she condescendingly replies, looking around at the furniture. It looks a lot like the one in his old place–the same pictures of Marcus sit on the mantel.

“So this is where you moved, huh?” She asks, looking around. 

“Nah,” He answers from the kitchen where he’s just pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge. “Just staying here for a bit while we get set up.” 

She meets him halfway and eyes the label she does not recognize. The prospect of being in the know of Rio’s process inevitably perks her right up and this shifts the conversation. 

“Are you planning on making cash here?” 

“Not exactly.”

She sighs before she takes a swig at his clearly dismissing her–she’s briefly taken aback at the rich, smooth taste and she looks at the label again. She’s definitely never seen this beer at the supermarket. And Rio is most definitely a snob. 

“You bring me to an old church that’s clearly being used for something obviously illegal and expect me to not ask any questions? The beer’s not that good.”

“I brought you here because I thought you could use a distraction,” he says with something earnest. 

Outside, it’s dark and fireworks are beginning to light up the sky in full. Past a large display of windows, Beth can see there’s a terrace and after a silent exchange that confirms she gets it, she walks past him, their shoulder brushing. 

Beth slides the sliding doors open and steps through where city noise is muffled underneath the loud explosion of fireworks all around them. There’s greens and pinks, and yellows, and every shade in between of gorgeous lights, paired with the faintest of smoky smells from the ones nearby. 

The wall boxing them into the terrace comes up to her chest and she leans forward a little to take a look at the church steps down below where a couple of kids are lighting those fireworks that mostly skitter around on the ground. They’re laughing and for a moment, it makes her think of her kids–this time it doesn’t hurt so much and what little does sting, she washes down with Rio’s fancy beer. 

“It’s art.”

She turns where she stands to lean back against the wall instead so she can see him approaching her, his own beer already half gone. 

“What?” 

“The stuff downstairs?”

She nods. 

“It’s not cash, it’s art.” He gives her a little smirk as he reaches her, glancing over the wall briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Trying something out. We’ll see how it goes. If it picks up, I’ll tell you more. Cool?” 

“Okay.” 

He drinks and she drinks, and soon they find themselves in companionable silence, watching the lights for a while until Beth feels, along with the telling effects of fancy, probably expensive, beer, a surge of boldness. 

“So, does this usually work?” 

“Does what usually work?”

“The beer, the repurposed building,” she explains, “the  _ literal _ fireworks–do girls usually fall for that on dates?” 

And then he laughs. 

“ _ Is _ this a date?” 

“I would say dinner and drinks, and a show--” she gestures out, “--constitutes as a date, yes.” 

“This isn’t a date.”

And, okay, that’s bold and ten kinds of embarrassing. “Right, no, I was just--”

And then he’s in her space, tucking her hair back and speaking softly. 

“Let me take you out for a real and I’ll show you what I do on a date.” 

“Okay.” 

“Tomorrow night? Your kids are still gone, right?” 

“Y-yeah. Yes, that could work.” 

“Great.”

And god, she’s really not used to the way he’s looking at her. If she ever decides to tell Annie about this, she anticipates gagging noises.

It’s definitely different than their previous--encounters. It’s intimate, and not loaded exactly, just--big. The way he leans in with a hand cradling her neck is sweet and exciting, and this time she lets him take the lead. He does it slowly, letting the tension build, and build, and build, until they’ve somehow melted against each other. 

He sighs, and she moans softly, her hand fisting his shirt at his side before they slowly pull apart. 

“Well,” she says, a little breathless,“sorry to ruin this suave, smooth-operator thing you’re almost achieving, but now this is definitely a date.” 

“Elizabeth,” he says, nuzzling her ear. 

“What?” 

“Shut up.” 

She opens her mouth to fight him, but then his lips are on her neck, and her eyes are closing at the sensation, so she lets him have it. Something tells her she’ll have plenty of opportunities over the weekend to have the last word. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry there was no sex. I just happened this way for once.


End file.
